


Head in Hands

by curious_eye



Category: Space Force (TV)
Genre: Fluff, Gen, Hurt/Comfort
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-21
Updated: 2020-06-21
Packaged: 2021-03-03 19:33:52
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,100
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24830905
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/curious_eye/pseuds/curious_eye
Summary: Based on a prompt for more Mark/Tony interactions (from Evs_Ash)Tony often makes Mark wish he could bury his head in his hands. Less frequently, Tony feels the same about General Naird.
Relationships: General Mark R. Naird & F. Tony Scarapiducci
Comments: 10
Kudos: 32





	Head in Hands

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Evs_Ash](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Evs_Ash/gifts).



> I’ve just realised this is now oddly appropriate as it’s Father's Day but here is Naird attempting to apply parenting strategies to Tony twice and one time that Tony had the upper hand for a little while instead (based on three dialogue prompts that were too perfect not to apply to these two)
> 
> (Basically a 5+1 only it’s more of a 2+1 which is very much lacking structure XD )

“Well, this is a nice change of scenery.” Fuck Tony’s voice was almost perfectly calm and dismissive of the current situation. His attitude made Naird want to bury his head in his hands and muffle a frustrated scream.

“It’s a prison cell,” he chastised from the opposite side of the bars, raising his eyebrows and channeling all of his parenting ability into angling the perfect, disapproving stare in the younger man’s direction.

“I was being sarcastic.” Tony sighed as if the general’s response was physically exhausting. He began to pace the small space, forcing Mark to track his movements backwards and forwards. “It could have gone worse.”

Naird buried his head in his hands, barely needing to muffle what ended up being a weary groan. He seriously considered whether it was a productive use of his energy to waste some levelling another stare at Tony, only choosing to do so when he drew a blank on alternative solutions.

“I take it I’m still _fired_?” Tony continued, happy to fill the silence and phrasing the word in that way that suggested he had never taken the threat seriously.

“I’ve been _firing_ you practically twice a day since I hired you,” Naird retorted, folding his arms and wondering if Fuck Tony was likely to break under the pressure of his best authoritative stare.

“Doesn’t work on me, sir,” Tony sounded as if he was boasting. It was maybe the one thing he had in common with Adrian. Correction: it was 100% the only thing the two of them had in common.

“It should,” Naird retorted wearily, lamenting Tony’s complete lack of common sense. He didn’t know why _fired_ had never turned into fired. Because the thing is, if almost anyone else on the base acted out like the man who was currently imprisoned did, they’d be gone. How Fuck Tony had ended up on the short list of exceptions was a mystery. “Come on, kid. We wouldn’t be in this position if you weren’t constantly threatening to leak confidential information.”

“Don’t _kid_ me,” Tony complained childishly, “And I wouldn’t have to threaten to leak confidential information if you weren’t so – so annoying.” Naird let the silence between them percolate, punctuated only by Tony’s exasperated sigh and subsequent collapse onto the small bench that furnished the cell.

“It’s not like I’m going to actually leak anything,” he said eventually, looking up at Naird and almost managing to pull off a reasonable expression. “You don’t tell me anything important enough for it to have an effect anyway.” Naird raised an eyebrow.

“Not to encourage you but you’ve definitely known confidential information before,” he corrected, instantly questioning why he’d give the other man this ammunition, “Admittedly, on more than half of those occasions you were reading over my shoulder which technically shouldn’t count, I suppose.”

“But it does mean I’d make a great spy, right?” The cheerful response made Naird’s mouth twitch and the accompanying finger gun that was aimed in his direction almost formed a smile.

“I’d say don’t do this again but you haven’t listened every other time,” he said instead of replying, opening the cell door and nodding his head to get Tony out. “I imagine dealing with Mallory’s wrath for a few days will be punishment enough. He’s not happy about the other threats you were making.”

“I wasn’t really going to hurt his precious rats,” the younger man grumbled under his breath, passing Naird at the door. “And he was totally asking for it. Have you told him _that_?” Tony only started to walk when Naird pushed his back forwards, turning his head to talk to the general over his shoulder. 

“Tell him yourself,” Naird replied patiently, unsurprised by the scoff he received in response.

“I don’t think so,” Tony replied, the tone of his voice conjuring the image of his raised eyebrows, “The man may be old but he is terrifying.”

* * *

“Ow!” 

Naird’s hand grabbed the back of Tony’s head, holding him still as he returned the tissue to its position under the other man’s nose.

“Why is he bleeding?” Mallory had entered the office almost silently, obviously not being asked to wait by Brad, as per usual. His question held such a lack of surprise at the sight he’d been met with and a general disinterest that Mark almost laughed.

“Because he’s an idiot,” he replied before Tony could try and explain himself. This seemed like a bad choice because Tony was balking all over again, furrowing his brow defensively.

“I didn’t know idiocy caused people to just start spontaneously bleeding from the nose,” Mallory said before the younger man could argue back. This didn’t stop him from turning his head once more as Adrian sat down on the other end of the sofa, picking up a newspaper and rustling the pages with a vigour that was surely meant to be obnoxious.

“I think it’s a new phenomenon.” Mark tugged Tony's head back to the correct orientation, still pressing the tissue against his face. “Keep still, will you?”

“This is so embarrassing,” Tony finally got a word in edgeways, his complaint slightly muffled but certainly indignant enough. Adrian’s snort seemed to prove his point and Mark held his head in place preemptively as he watched Tony’s eyes narrow unhappily.

“Don’t chastise him,” the general turned to Adrian pleadingly, “We’ve been sat here for fifteen minutes because he won’t just stay in one place.”

“Actually, we’ve been here for fifteen minutes because you made the problem worse after the first five,” Tony interjected, wrinkling his nose when Mark increased the pressure in an attempt to keep him quiet. “Ow!”

“I can’t say that surprises me,” Adrian’s voice floated up from behind the raised newspaper, his bespectacled eyes appearing from over the white sheets. “Were nosebleeds not covered in war zone first aid? Have you been treating it like a gun shot wound?” Mark made an effort to look offended, determined not to admit that this was probably the exact reason that Tony’s nose was still bleeding.

“I’m managing just fine, thank you,” he replied in a clipped tone that never worked on either of the two men who were present. Mallory snorted once more as Tony rolled his eyes, the two united in a similar immunity to Mark’s authority.

“So, how did it happen?” Adrian asked again, the question betraying his constant aim to be on top of base gossip. Naird widened his eyes at Tony, intending for the action to be interpreted as a command to remain silent under interrogation.

“I literally walked into the room and he punched me in the face,” Tony widened his own eyes to fit the exaggerated truth he was telling, clearly missing the point of Naird’s instruction entirely.

“Mark!” Adrian scolded, mock outrage filling his voice. The newspaper was back on the table, joined by the older man’s feet as he rested back in the chair, his eyes shining with a level of curiosity that was only ever piqued by science or a chance to get one up on the general.

“He crept up behind me,” Mark replied belligerently, “I don’t know what he expected by announcing his presence in my blind spot!”

“Oh, I don’t know,” Tony interjected, screwing up his face as if he was trying to think hard, “Probably anything other than a punch in the face.” 

Mark ignored the urge to do it again and kept the tissue held under Tony’s nose, letting out a fond sigh that he would only ever describe as exasperated.

* * *

Tony spent the last five minutes of the press conference mentally with his head in his hands. Contrary to popular belief he wasn’t completely blind to General Naird’s frequent despair which was aimed in his direction and, for the first time, he felt the tables had turned.

“What was that?” He trailed after Naird who at least had the decency to avoid making eye contact as they hastily departed the room full of journalists. “We’d prepared for that one. We literally had a plan so this wouldn’t happen.”

“I don’t think I handled it too badly,” the general retorted, regaining some of his bravado and straightening his back as they walked back. He had a tendency to stride faster when he was stressed out, forcing Tony to half-skip in order to keep up with him. He sacrificed his own dignity to do this of course, because it allowed him to continue to berate the other man.

“We’d planned out how you’d answer it,” he whined, tugging the rolled up sheet of paper from Naird’s pocket and brandishing it in the older man’s face. “I gave you options!”

“And I went with my own judgement,” Naird replied as if it was the simplest thing in the world. Tony briefly wondered if Naird thought he was this hard to work with normally but decided not to dwell on it. He had a rare opportunity to feel superior to the general and he wasn’t going to bring himself down in the process.

“There are at least seventeen ways this could have gone better. Literally. Like I’m counting them right now.” He flailed the paper around even more, running his finger down the list of responses before groaning to himself frustratedly. “You moron.”

“Alright, a bit of respect would be nice,” Naird chastised, looking keen to solve this issue before they were seen having a full-blown argument in the middle of the base. Not that it would be the first time.

“Oh, I’m sorry,” Tony apologised falsely, “You’re a moron, _sir._ ” Naird finally slowed down, stopping in the parking lot between the hangar that had been the setting for their press conference and the base.

“It was one question, no one seemed immediately outraged,” he reasoned, looking suddenly sceptical, “Why have you got so hung up on it? Is it because it took you all of five minutes to write that list and you wanted that hard work to go to good use?” Tony didn’t appreciate his sarcasm, conveying this with a scowl.

“No, actually,” he replied petulantly, “You didn’t stick to our message. All of my options were just a retelling of the same point. You know, the point we’re making because the president wants us to present Space Force that way?” It felt like explaining something to a child, a concept he was familiar with given General Naird’s total inability to grasp social media etiquette.

“I didn’t say anything ridiculous though, did I?” Naird argued back patiently, “I haven’t created a scandal for you to handle.” Tony sighed again, gesticulating without speaking for a moment as if he could pick the words from thin air.

“In this administration, saying stuff that’s off message is not – public relations people get fired for that sort of thing,” he said eventually, trailing off towards the end and regretting saying anything at all when Naird’s expression softened slightly.

“No one’s getting fired,” he replied, barely keeping the incredulity from his tone. Tony threw his arms into a loose shrug and headed back towards the base, pettily satisfied when it was Naird who widened his stride to catch up. “You’re doing a good job here.”

“Against all odds,” Tony fired back over his shoulder, growing more bitter by the second. “I’d do a better job if you actually let me do what I’m paid for.” He actually enjoyed the PR side of his job more than all of the social media. He’d experienced all of that in his other jobs but press conferences and journalists were newer to him, in practice at least.

“Okay, so I should have stuck to the script,” Naird admitted, immediately undermining his attempt at an apology, “Happy now?”

“I’d be happier if you meant it,” Tony muttered, shoving his hands into his trouser pockets and continuing to walk. Naird’s sigh just reached him and then the footsteps behind him resumed.

“I do mean it,” he said, sounding more genuine, “I’m new to this side of things too. When I’m up there and people expect me to have the answers I forget that the words coming out of my mouth might as well be coming out of yours. But really, you’re not going anywhere, Tony.” Tony paused, exhaling thoughtfully.

“Okay,” he murmured, flashing a slight smile in Naird’s direction, “I’d be happier if you admitted your knowledge of Twitter needed to be improved as well but baby steps, I guess.”

“I don’t think we even need to acknowledge that one out loud,” Naird replied wryly, “Although I imagine it will be a much steeper learning curve.”

**Author's Note:**

> The prompts were:  
> “Well, this is a nice change of scenery.”  
> “It’s a prison cell.”  
> “I was being sarcastic.”
> 
> “Why is he bleeding?”  
> “Because he’s an idiot.”  
> “I didn’t know idiocy caused people to just start spontaneously bleeding from the nose.”  
> “I think it’s a new phenomenon.”
> 
> “There are at least seventeen ways this could have gone better. Literally. Like I’m counting them right now. You moron.”


End file.
